Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: In the battle following the Age of Ultron, civilians, robots, and Avengers lay dead on the streets. Steve and Natasha must offer each other support before they both crumble completely. As both the past and the present haunt them, they draw closer together and find solace in their company. After AoU, does not include events from it. No spoilers. Threeshot. Romanogers.
1. Chapter 1

**This may be a long author's note, so please stick with me. First of all, this is purely a work of fiction. I have not read the script for AoU, or seen the film. This is a story, and the events will most likely not happen in the movie. One major thing is that Bucky is not in the AoU, and he is in this story, so don't go saying I spoiled the movie, because I did not :)**

**Second, I worked my butt off for this story. It's a three-shot. If you have to leave criticism, at least try to be constructive please ;) I can't even explain how important reviews are. Please, take a little time and write something so I can improve! This story has all of the Avengers, but it focuses on Romanogers. I know, Steve and Natasha may be a little out of character, but I'm trying my best here :)**

**Third, I hope you all enjoy this. It does get a little emotional.**

**I don't own Marvel or any characters in this story. **_  
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* * *

_Do not go gentle into that good night,_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;__  
__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,__  
__Because their words had forked no lightning they__  
__Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright__  
__Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,__  
__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,__  
__And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,__  
__Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight__  
__Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,__  
__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,__  
__Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.__  
__Do not go gentle into that good night.__  
__Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_-Dylan Thomas 1914-1953_

* * *

Steve stared down at his hand, dry and bloodied, intertwined with his brother's. Bucky lay on the ground, face-up, the bullet wound in his chest still leaking crimson blood. The black uniform he wore had been compromised.

The air around Steve was smoky and dusty, an array of destruction was all he could see in his vicinity. Not a civilian in site. They had all run screaming in terror as the robots took over the city. The ones that didn't die in the initial attack had fled and not returned since.

Lamp posts were bent over and sparking with broken electrical wires. Buildings were no longer buildings, just aimless piles of rubble all coming together to form a bigger pile of nothingness. Civilian corpses littered the streets, only adding to the grotesqueness of the situation.

Fires still flickered in random sections of the abandoned city in the afternoon twilight. Cars lay overturned and smoldering in the dying light. A day of fighting and scheming had left Steve physically and emotionally robbed in more ways than one.

Steve was looking at his surroundings so his eyes wouldn't go back to Bucky's frozen form. His best friend, his brother in arms, lay dead on the uneven pavement.

One of Ultron's minions was the cause of the blood that had started to dry on Steve's hand, the far-away look Bucky's eyes had held. In the midst of battle, with the metallic monsters swarming all around them, Steve and Bucky had worked like a team, as they always had. Until one robot snuck around and put a bullet in Bucky's leg, causing him to lose his balance and concentration. The bullet that followed had ended him.

Steve had screamed as he watched Bucky fall to the ground. He finished off the rest of the robots in a furious rage, but he was still too late. By the time the robots were gone and he had returned to Bucky's side, his eyes were fixated on some point in the distance. Closing Bucky's eyes was the hardest thing Steve had ever done.

He never got to say goodbye. That was what bothered him the most.

In the end, Ultron lay in a pile of slightly melted metal off to the side of one of the streets, once red eyes no longer gleaming with light. Seeing Steve's distress, the rest of the team had all decided to split up to finish off the threat and leave Steve with his grief.

Tony and Thor were gone, flying around somewhere to pick off the last of Ultron's minions. Natasha and Clint were doing the same, except on the ground. He had no idea where Bruce was, he just hoped that he was safe. Loosing one person in a day would be hard enough. Two would be unbearable.

Steve simply sat, wanting it all to be another nightmare, one he would wake up from and Bucky would be alright. He would be alive.

All of those times where he had remembered the frosty bite of the wind on his lips, the way Bucky's cold hand had reached for him, and failed. How Bucky had fallen into that snowy place where the river ran down below, hands still outstretched if Steve could still catch him.

Every morning he awoke, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Every morning he pushed those memories down, telling no one about them. Every day, he went for a morning run to try and relieve his consciousness of the images of the time he had failed.

And every day, the pressure got worse and worse. Steve, being the man he was and not wanting anyone to worry about him, still kept it all hidden.

But when he saw Bucky on the half-ruined street that fateful day, everything seemed to wash away and his new mission became redeeming himself for his friend, saving him when he had failed before.

Bucky had eventually returned to the tower and Steve had welcomed him home with open arms. He was there at Bucky's side when the nightmares would leave him screaming in agony. The roles drastically switched as Steve became the one looking after Bucky. But he did get better and soon it was the way things were before Steve had lost Bucky the first time. He felt much better knowing that someone was there who he could talk to about his memories, share stories with. It was one of the calmest feelings he had ever experienced, having someone to talk to who understood.

Now, he had lost Bucky again. This time, for real.

He knew that this time, when the nightmares would come for him again, their black swirls of mist curling over him as he slept, he would not be able to push them away. He either had to go crazy or tell someone, a choice he would rather not make. Bucky was his problem, his grief to deal with, and he didn't want to burden anyone else more than he needed to.

He sat in silence, his throat already raw from screaming, begging for his friend to come back. Bucky was always there for him. The one time he had needed Steve, Steve was gone. His brother was not there to hold his hand in passing, so he had gone alone. The most formidable task of his life, Bucky had to take head-on and solitarily.

Memories kept flashing before his eyes. Memories of the good times. When Bucky had stood up for him countless times. The army. The horrible day on the train. The surprise when he saw Bucky as an agent for HYDRA. The look on Bucky's face when he had come back.

And now, the straight line Bucky's lips created, frozen on his face forever.

Looking down at his friend again, the blood strewn across his face, Steve knew he had to leave at some point. He had to find the rest of his team. He squeezed Bucky's limp hand one last time and set it down on top of his body. His metal arm gleamed in the passing sunlight, the red star made even more red with streaks of his blood.

Steve grunted as he stood up, clutching his probably broken ribs. Blood leaked out of a bullet wound on his right arm as he pushed himself up. "I'm with you 'till the end of the line, don't you ever forget that you jerk," Steve said to Bucky's broken form. It occurred to Steve that he was talking to a man who could neither hear him or respond back.

_Jerk_. Even when he said it to someone else, the name was still Bucky's completely. He would come back for him, of course, but he had to find the other Avengers first.

A tear dropped from his face down to the ash-covered ground below.

Steve turned away from the scene and took a few steps away from the body before he heard a scream.

His mind broke away from his sadness and he grasped his shield tighter, running towards the sound. He picked his way carefully through the deteriorated city, stepping over piles of rubble and using others as supports when the fire in his lungs threatened to black out his vision.

It continued, a horrible, guilty cry that echoed through the barren streets.

Steve got closer to the screams just as they stopped. He looked around a burning cafe on the corner of one of the streets.

Sitting in the rubble, hair a mess, shoulders hunched in sadness, sat Natasha.

Steve approached carefully, his boots cracking the shards of glass that lay all over the broken street.

Natasha heard and whipped her head around. Once she lay eyes on him, she brought her hand up to her mouth to stifle another sob. Thin trails of tears had streaked across her face, cutting trails in the dirt.

She looked…vulnerable.

In all the time Steve had worked with her, he had never seen her cry, had never seen her show more than a little of her softer side. What she did have of a softer side, and what she chose to show, mainly belonged to Clint. He, of course, knew it existed, but never asked because he had reason to. But seeing her, a broken woman, sitting amongst the small fires and debris, it made him feel…something.

Steve ran forward to comfort her, to say anything to ease whatever pain she was feeling. He stopped a few steps from her as her eyes drifted down to the pavement next to her legs.

Clint lay beside her, his face and hair filthy with dirt, laying perfectly still. His face was paler than it should've been and a long gash was crossed from his temple down to his chin. His hand was still securely stuck to the bow. It took Steve a moment to figure out what was wrong. Two wounds on his chest seeped crimson onto the ground, making a small river of blood that travelled away from his body.

The red bird that covered the blackness of his outfit had been shot down, and Clint had followed.

"Natasha?" Steve asked as he gingerly sat down beside her, his ribs burning.

She caught him off guard as she wrapped him in a hug, her breathing uneven on his shoulder as she fought down another sob. His arms went around her back, caressing her, moving slowly over her torn uniform. When she finally pulled away, she wiped the tears from her eyes with a dirtied sleeve. "I thought I lost you too," she whispered, her eyes locking with Steve's.

"What happened?" Steve asked, motioning to Clint's body. It was no secret, he was gone. Two people in one day. A feeling of dumbness washed over Steve, threatening to drown him.

"They jumped us. Those freaking robots!" Natasha yelled, kicking her heel out to the ground, pushing away a chunk of rock. "I got beaten by a bunch of unfeeling, _programmed _things. I let them get to Clint. I could have done better." She took a shaky breath and pushed a hand through her hair.

He took this in for a second. "I'm sure there was nothing else you could've done," he said quietly.

"I could have killed them faster. I could have gotten supplies. Damn it, I could have let him not have to die in my arms!" she replied with a shaky breath.

"I could have done that same thing. I could have stopped them faster so I would've been able to see him die at least. So he would've had someone to hold on to before going. Clint at least had that luxury. He wasn't alone."

"Bucky?" Natasha asked, pushing a stray hair from her face in the faint breeze that lifted some of the smoke from the ground.

Steve nodded and looked away.

"At least he got to know you again."

"Yeah. I lost him once and it hurt like hell. Loosing him again, for real this time, is going through hell and back. I'm so damn tired of losing everyone," Steve replied. "Sorry."

It took her a moment to figure out what he said sorry for. When she figured it out, her chapped lips drew up at the edges in the small smirk she was known for. "Rogers, that is not cursing," Natasha smirked. "If we survive this, you have got to stop being so-"

"So what?" Steve asked, curious.

"So 1940's!" Natasha replied.

"Well, kind of hard to do when I'm still adjusting, but I'll try my best." A small smile played on his lips, something that he didn't think he would do that day.

Natasha tried to shift her position on the ground and grimaced in pain.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked, a look of worry crossing his face.

"My ankle. Stepped on a loose piece of rubble. It's probably sprained. Doesn't hurt enough to be broken," she said, unzipping her boot. Her ankle was indeed swollen and out of place. She zipped her boot up and her eyes went back to Barton.

"Once we get back, we'll get that fixed," Steve said reassuringly. Natasha only nodded in response.

It was quiet for a minute as they listened to more fragments of rubble tumble down and land with a thud onto the ground. Natasha lay down onto Steve and let his strong, safe arms envelop her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

Steve let out a long sigh. "Finding out I had been frozen for seventy years and having to adjust was the hardest thing I had to do. Until now. Walking away from Bucky, closing his eyes, it hurt, you know?" Steve asked.

Natasha nodded. "He was the only one who understood me and was okay with it."

They sat in silence again, in mourning, in remembrance, for the ones they had lost. More rubble fell around them, as if the world was literally collapsing.

"There!" someone yelled. Multiple sets of footsteps sounded behind them.

Steve turned slightly and could not hide the smile on his face when he saw the other Avengers running up to meet them. Thor was carrying Bucky's lifeless body in his arms as Tony jogged up to them in his beat-up suit.

"We had no idea where you guys were. We found him and thought the worst," Tony said out of breath, motioning to Bucky. He looked to Natasha, who's eyes were still on Clint.

Tony followed her gaze and Steve could see his heart drop. "No," he whispered.

"Tony, you okay?" Bruce asked as he walked up behind him, shirtless, so he must've transformed into the Hulk at some point. His eyes fell to Barton as well and he sucked in a breath.

Thor was the last to arrive and set Bucky down gently next to Steve.

"Thanks, Thor," Steve mumbled.

"It was my honor, Lord Steven. Is Sir Barton sleeping, tired from the long battle?" Thor asked in his innocent voice. His usually blonde hair was more of a dark blonde now, dirt and ash covering the usually yellow glow. Thor was indeed battered, as well of the rest of them, each portraying their fare shares of gashes and blood. But none of them seemed to be hurt badly.

Natasha let out another small cry and buried her face in Steve's uniform, hiding from the cruel world. He hesitated as he brought his hand up but then brought it down and back up, gently caressing her head.

"He has passed?" Thor asked again, cocking his head to the side. Sadness was becoming evident as the slight smirk that always seemed to grace his face faded away.

Natasha nodded into Steve's uniform, still not looking at any of them.

Thor took a long sigh and sat down on the ground next to Steve. Bruce and Tony did the same and eventually they formed a semi-circle around their friend in the broken landscape.

"Do not fear. He will make it to Valhalla, this I am most certain of."

Natasha brought her head out from Steve's chest and wiped her eyes. "Thanks, Thor," she said in a small voice. They sat in the semi-circle for a moment, the three men trying to take in that they had lost not one, but two comrades in the same day.

It was Tony that finally broke the silence.

"We should start heading back," Tony said, almost afraid someone would hear him.

"Alright," Steve replied as he stood up, still clutching his ribs. They burned like he had swallowed fire, but the pain of losing Bucky was still far greater.

Thor picked up Bucky once again like a limp rag doll. Tony walked over in his Iron Man suit and lifted Clint off the ground.

Natasha started to say something but Tony cut her off. "I'll be careful, I know," he said. It was almost comical to see what loss could do to Tony, who was usually the funny, stupid, sarcastic one. Natasha couldn't decide if she liked this version of Tony better or not. He just didn't seem like himself.

Before Natasha could object, Steve got his arm under her legs and lifted her up bridal style. She grimaced as her hurt ankle was lifted into the air, but eventually gave in and sagged against Steve. They were both exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Each of them was carrying someone else, even Bruce, who was carrying the Hulk, deep and hidden inside him. Two dead, one injured, one out of sight.

They left the smoking ruins of the city filled with ghosts, still burning in the afternoon air.

* * *

Fury met them at the doors to the tower and took Clint and Bucky to be prepared for the funeral. Natasha looked away and balled up what she could of Steve's uniform, refusing to watch as Clint was put into the back of the truck and driven off.

Steve, however, watched. He wanted to remember every detail about Bucky, for after a few days, he would never see him again.

The realization was just hitting him, running over him like a train, refusing to let him get up. No one would be there to understand what he had gone through in the 40's. No one to laugh at his terrible jokes. He had lost a friend, a comrade, a used-to be enemy, a prankster, his rock. But most of all he had lost his brother.

When Natasha looked up at Steve, his face was hard and thin streaks of water were making their way down his cheeks.

Tony, Bruce, and Thor all went up to their respective rooms without a sound as Steve and Natasha watched the trucks fade into the distance, taking their friends with them.

Steve carried Natasha up to her floor and lay her down on the bed.

"I need a shower," she mumbled.

"You can't take one with your ankle. Maybe take a bath instead?" Steve asked.

She nodded and he swiftly turned around and started the water as she undressed and wrapped a towel around herself. He then returned and gave his support, helping her into the bath before closing the door behind him.

Steve then went up to his floor and peeled out of his uniform, which was stained with dirt and blood. Who's blood exactly, he had no idea. Steve gently sat his shield down on his bed and did not care how dirty it was. Marks of bullets scraping against the metal had left its paint chipped and the entire thing was glazed over in a fine layer of dirt. But it was still his shield. Hell, his shield was him if anything.

He looked over his room, his eyes landing on a picture of him and Bucky, taken during the war. The paper was yellow and curling at the edges, but it was still his favorite image. Both of them, in full combat gear, guns at their sides, but the joy they expressed on their faces seemed to melt that all away. They were just two men having a good time before going into a death trap.

Steve smiled and picked up the picture, wiping tears out of his eyes. He took the picture and set it atop his shield.

Even though the shield was his material protector, Bucky had been there all the times he hadn't had a weapon.

He took a quick shower, watching as the bloody water spiraled down the drain and out of sight. The water stung his scrapes, but that was nothing compared to the fire that was engulfing his lungs as he struggled to get himself clean. He did, however, make do, and threw on some clean clothes before going back to Natasha's floor.

He gently tapped on the door. "You done?" he asked.

"Don't rush me, Rogers," she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice. "But yes, I am done.

He entered the bathroom and helped her out, again closing his eyes before she got a towel. When she was decent and he reopened his eyes, she was grinning.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Steve, your 1940 side is showing again," she said as she began to brush out her hair on one foot.

She then got changed and soon she was sitting on the bed, hair wet and clean, as Steve stood by her feet with an ankle wrap.

"This is going to hurt," he warned.

"Nothing compared to the pain I've felt today. Just immobilize it and I'll have Bruce look at it tomorrow," she said and turned her head to the side.

Steve gingerly applied the wrap, making sure it was tight, but not too tight. Natasha was silent the entire time. "Better?" he asked as he finished and stood back up.

She nodded. "Thanks, Steve, for everything."

"My pleasure, it was no problem at all," he replied and opened the door.

"Where are you going?" Natasha asked curiously as the untucked the sheets from the bed.

"To my floor."

"No," she simply replied and smirked at his confusion.

"Excuse me?" Steve asked as a questioning look crossed his face.

"I lost Clint today, you lost Bucky. The worst thing is being alone to grieve. Plus, I don't want to let you out of my sight. Not tonight," she replied innocently.

Steve took a moment to contemplate this, his chest moving up and down slightly in the pale lamplight, each breath labored.

"Fine," he mumbled. He dimmed the light so it was barely on and crawled into the bed next to Natasha as she lay down.

They lay with their backs to each other, soundless and trying to sleep.

Steve grunted as he tried to find the right position and ended up laying on his back so he didn't hurt his ribs any more than he had to.

"You okay?" Natasha mumbled.

"Yeah. Ribs. We can both go see Banner tomorrow," Steve replied.

"Good plan." She was out like a light.

Steve had never been with a woman really before, and had never slept in the same bed as one. _"But this is Natasha. We need each other right now,"_ he chided himself.

He gave a long sigh and looked over to Natasha, whose breathing was even with sleep. His eyes growing heavy from the long day, Steve eventually succumbed as well.

* * *

**I will get the second chapter up as soon as I can. I appreciate your reviews so much, so please, help a fellow writer out :) I will respond to reviews in the next chapter as well. Thank you so much for reading!**


	2. Hold on Forever

**Thank you so much everyone for reading! Big thanks to the people that have reviewed, Dreamescape16, ErinKenobi2893, wolflehr, and swren1. It means a lot, guys :) Alright, next chapter! This one is not as feelsey, but it delves more into the past. So if you get tired of flashbacks, sorry, but I thought that they were needed. **_**Flashbacks may not always be labeled, but they will always be in italics. **_**Hope you enjoy!**

**I don't own Marvel. If you think that, I don't know if I should be flattered or scared.**

* * *

It was not a restful sleep. Almost as if his entire mind decided to attack him now that his eyes were closed. Memories of him and Bucky flitted by.

_"Bucky! Take my hand!" Steve yelled over the sound of the train wheels. He threw off his helmet and started climbing towards Bucky, outstretching his brown gloved hand. Flakes of snow fell on it and an icy wind bit through his uniform._

_ Bucky reached as the metal began to creak and came loose. __"Bucky!" Steve screeched as his friend fell, his hands still outstretched as if he could reach him. Bucky disappeared into the snowy cliff below the train._

_ Steve sunk down to his knees. __"Bucky."_

_ It had been a long fight. Steve was bruised and battered, but the Winter Soldier showed no signs of stopping. He finally got up under the monster and flipped him, his faceplate clambering to the ground. Long hair, tangled and dirty, blocked most of the soldier__'s face. However, when he turned, the face was still the same as Steve had remembered all those years ago. The hard jawline, the eyes now filled with hate._

_ "__Bucky?" Steve asked, standing up straighter._

_ "__Who the hell is Bucky?" he replied and pulled out a gun._

_ "__You are," Steve wanted to reply. But the falcon beat him to it, kicking Bucky down before Natasha let a rocket loose, engulfing the street in flames. When Steve turned his eyes back to the blaze, Bucky was gone._

_ Once in the snow. Once in the fire. Once in the rubble._

_ Many people only have one life. In a sense, James Buchannan Barnes was offered three. _

_ And Steve lost him every time._

Waking with a start, Steve sat up hurriedly in bed. He ran a hand through his damp hair and took deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

A nightmare. Not uncommon.

He swung his feet over the bed and brought his hands up to his face, where he could see they were shaking slightly in the dim lamplight. The time was 2:46. He got up and made his way slowly to the bathroom, careful to not wake Natasha.

He cupped water in his hands and put it to his face, as if the clear substance could wash away his demons. Steve dried off his face, his eyes now wide and awake. No way he was getting back to sleep.

Even if he did, it wouldn't be long before the dreams got him again.

When he switched off the bathroom light, the room becoming darker, he could see that Natasha was silhouetted in the darkness.

He slid back in next to her and trained his eyes on the ceiling. No matter what his thoughts started off with, they always drifted back to Bucky's still form, once full of life, laying on the road. It all seemed so real, so grotesque, as if he could see his friend laying right in front of him, dead, in Natasha's room. His short black hair, clean-shaven jaw, and the ominous red stain spreading across his chest.

Steve clenched his eyes shut and reopened them and the white of the ceiling greeted him. He sighed back against the pillow. It was too early to go for a run, unfortunately. He could use one. For the moment, however, his mind was clear. No ghosts around the corner, no memories plaguing his vision. For now.

That was why when Natasha started screaming, it scared the life lout of him. She was turned on her side and curled in on herself in a fetal position, her mouth open in a scream. Her voice was raw and terrified, as if she were screaming from the inner depths of her soul. Perhaps she was.

"Natasha," he said, shaking her arm a little. "Natasha!" he repeated, a little louder, as her screams finally stopped. She was silent, but her breathing was ragged, her lithe form shaking. Steve decided it was better to wake her up than to let her endure whatever horrors she was facing.

He shook her arm harder and sat up in the bed. Her eyes snapped open and her hand went up to meet his face. Steve caught her fist and gently closed his hand around it. A knife was in-between her fingers, ready to strike.

Her flaming hair was stuck to her head with sweat, her green eyes wild and unfocused.

"Natasha, it's me," he said calmly, his gaze meeting hers.

Her pupils began to shrink as her chest heaved to make up for lost air. Steve smoothly removed the knife from her hand and set it on the nightstand next to his side of the bed.

"Clint?" she whispered in a hopeful tone, still not entirely awake. She shook faintly beside him.

"Steve," he said gently. "Clint is gone."

Natasha seemed to fully awake, remembering the actions of the past day. Everything she had been hiding, everything she had felt, came and crushed her like a ton of bricks.

* * *

_ "__Just fall apart if you need to._

_ I__'m here and I won't leave you, now._

_ Don__'t look down._

_ Hold on forever.__"_

_ Hold on Forever - Rob Thomas_

* * *

She sagged back against the pillow and began to cry, taking gasping breaths in-between sobs to try and calm herself.

Steve wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close to his own body, one of his hands stroking her hair.

"I know, I know," he said softly.

Natasha tried to collect herself. There was no reason for her to be crying. She had lost people before. But it never hurt this much.

"Steve?" she asked through a few choked sobs.

"Hm?" he replied.

"How are you not an emotional mess right now?" Steve chuckled slightly, his hand still gliding down her hair.

He took a deep breath, thinking about his answer. "I cried a lot when my parents died. Horrible grief when I let Bucky fall. Now, it's just…" he let his sentence trail off. "Almost like I've become used to it. Almost. I just feel numb."

"No one becomes used to death," Natasha replied. "I've lost everyone. Clint was the only one that understood me. He saved me. And I couldn't save him."

Steve was silent. The word, _was_, was replaying over and over in his mind. Bucky _was _his friend. Bucky _was_ his brother. Bucky _was_ dead.

"Maybe I could-" Steve started but Natasha cut him off.

"Try to understand me, Rogers?" Natasha asked, getting up from his grasp and wiping tears from her eyes. "You wouldn't want to live in the same building as me if you knew my past. I can't lose anyone else."

Steve sighed. "Nothing could make me like you any less. Nobody's past is perfect. Mine is a good example," Steve stated and smirked.

"You sure? Once I tell you, I can never go back," Natasha said warily.

Steve sat up so they were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. "I'm all ears."

"If you tell anyone I was crying, or tell anyone what I am about to tell you, I will kill you in your sleep," she threatened. Steve knew well enough to not cross her.

"Everybody has weaknesses. I'm not in the business of exploiting them," Steve replied honestly.

"No, that's Tony's job," Natasha joked. Something in her chest loosened a little.

So she told him. Slowly at first, as if the most minor detail would scare him away. Then she began to open up, smiling to herself all the while. _"I must really trust him if I'm sharing this,"_ she thought to herself. Every word she said felt like a weight was being lifted off of her shoulders.

But then she would look back at his face, deep in thought, and a fear would wash over her. A fear that he would turn her away, not unlike so many people before him. Steve was different, and for that reason, she held out hope.

She told him everything. Her family, the way they were murdered. How she was brainwashed and used as a weapon. The first time she killed someone, before she was even ten. The tortures, the lies, all of the blood on her hands, she said every detail

By the time she had finished weaving her tapestry of torture and deceit, the sun was peeking over the buildings.

Natasha took a deep breath and looked at Steve with sad eyes. A weight seemed to have been lifted off her shoulders. If he chose to stay, she would not have to carry her burden alone. He sat silent, unmoving on the bed, his eyes looking at nothing in particular.

"If you're going to go, just go. I understand," she said, building back up the walls around herself.

Steve snapped out of his trance and looked at her. A sad smile graced his lips in the morning light.

_Flashback_

_"Natasha come look at this!" Clint exclaimed on the balcony of their small m__otel room. __The air was tinged with dust, the carpet and all of the other furniture inside was in various stages of decay. They were waiting for the target to make a move. Natasha hated waiting._

_"What?" she asked as she stepped out onto the platform. There was a small drizzle in the air and Clint was smirking._

_"A rainbow," he said. Natasha scoured the sky, but she saw no colors other than the dull gray of the clouds._

_"Where?" she questioned._

_Clint brought out his bow from next to him and chuckled. The wetness caught on the sleek black surface of his bow._

_"Rain. Bow," he laughed, showing Natasha the pun he had just made._

_"That's bad," she replied, but couldn't hide the smile from her face. She punched him lightly in the arm as he set his bow down._

_A loud dinging sounded from inside the room._

_"Time to go?" Clint asked._

_Natasha nodded in response. "Be sure to bring your rainbow with you."_

_End Flashback_

That was one of the memories that played through Natasha's mind as she watched Steve. Just a memory of Clint being who he was, Clint. Sure, his lines were cheesy and he had the worst jokes, but they had always brought a smile to her face. He had something that no one else had, and that was understanding.

However, when she looked into Steve's electric blue eyes, she saw the same understanding that had been present in Clint's up until his death.

"I"m not going anywhere," Steve said. He reached across the bed and grasped her hand. "That is all in the past. I didn't know you then. It wasn't you, either. All I care about is now. We need each other now. We need somebody to lean on."

Natasha nodded her head slightly. "Thanks."

"No need for thanks for understanding. Now, if Tony understood, that would require a thanks, but he won't," Steve replied.

"What else do you expect from Tony?" Natasha asked playfully. Her expression was happier than it had been before, but she was still more down than usual.

A wave of dizziness hit Steve like a wave. He blinked his eyes to try to get it to pass, but he wavered. "Steve?" Natasha asked curiously. He could see lines of worry crossing her face.

The memories of Bucky flashed before his eyes, he could feel the icy wind biting into his skin. The plane and the horrible, undying crunches of metal that followed the collision. Her voice, shifting slightly with emotion, being displayed for him via radio, the last thing he thought he would ever hear. How he had treasured every word.

He slipped into blackness.

_Flashback_

_Steve felt the explosion jostle his aching bones, he felt the crash of the water as it welcomed him. He did not, however, feel new air coming into his lungs. He lay there at the bottom of the river, too wounded, too tired to move. That was until someone helped him out, dropping him unceremoniously onto the beach._

_ Steve turned his head, water streaming out of his partially closed lips. Spots clouded his vision and the screaming pains of agony had diminished to a stinging numbness. A metallic tang was swimming in his mouth from the cut on his lip. Everything before his eyes was covered in red. The water was like millions of people had spilled their blood to make the once-clear liquid. His blood wet the sand beneath him, it was the cause of the tattered uniform that clung to his marred form. Steve forced himself to look away. He saw his savior start to walk away, the gleam of his metal arm growing father and farther from him._

_ "__Bucky," he whispered, hoping his friend would hear him._

_ The soldier stopped and looked back at Steve, his face full of remorse. All of the blood that covered Steve__'s uniform, seeped into the sand, it was all because of him._

_ "__I can't stay," he mumbled, trying to turn back away. But the sight of Steve, so vulnerable, everything in him screamed for him to end it, to finish his mission. He subdued all of those feelings._

_ Steve contemplated this before saying, __"thanks." Every word he spoke was like a hundred knives everywhere in his body._

_ Bucky turned away, imagining Steve__'s dropped shoulders. Even if he was broken and Steve was stronger, it was still his job to protect him._

_ "__I'll see ya later, punk," Bucky said, walking away._

_ Those five words cemented the idea into Steve__'s head. If he made it off the beach alive, he was getting his friend back._

_ End Flashback_

When Steve woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window. There was a cool cloth on his head and a curious redhead staring down at him.

"I was so worried. You've been out for a few hours," Natasha said, breathing a sigh of relief as Steve sat up. "You okay?"

"I think we can both tell that I'm not," he said, a little harsher than he had intended. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she replied, running a hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. "Want to talk about it?"

Steve took a moment to think that over. She had told him about her skeletons. But he still didn't feel ready to reveal his. "Maybe later," he replied, getting up from the bed and stretching out his arms. His lungs burned, reminding him of his injury.

"We should get our war wounds checked out," Natasha said sarcastically. Steve nodded and went to pick her up from the bed as he had done the previous day.

"I am fine to walk, Rogers," she stated.

"I know. But I am a gentleman and I help damsels in distress," Steve replied, chuckling slightly.

"Ugh," Natasha muttered as Steve gracefully lifted her up. He carried her down to Bruce's lab, where he was tinkering away at things. It always helped his emotions to be doing something and not just sitting somewhere, grieving.

"Hey. How you guys holding up?" he asked, removing his glasses.

"Alright. But we have some questions," Steve said, setting Natasha down on one of the tables. Bruce's eyes immediately went to her wrapped ankle and the way that Steve was clutching his ribs.

"Let me see what I can do." He gingerly removed the bandage from her ankle, which was now even more swollen. He pressed down on certain parts, asking Natasha where it hurt the most. "You's lucky. Just a sprain," Bruce said. He got a brace and slid it over her ankle, tightening it as necessary.

"I won't be doing any fighting for a while, anyways," she said, hopping up from the table and grabbing the pair of crutches that Bruce handed her.

"Now, what did you do, Cap?" Bruce asked.

"Ribs," he said.

"I need you to remove your shirt so I can tell if it is a crack or a break," Bruce instructed. With difficulty, Steve lifted the shirt up and over his head.

Natasha couldn't help but look at his smooth stomach and gleaming skin. But her eyes tore away from that when she saw the large purple and green spot on his chest.

Steve visibly winced as Bruce felt along his ribs, uttering a cry of pain as his fingers glided over the bruised area.

Bruce pulled his hand away and Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "Two broken ribs. It's surprising you weren't in more pain, Cap," Bruce said.

"I am super," Steve replied, trying a little bit of dry humor.

"I can't fix it, though. It should take about a week to heal, since you have the serum, but there's no use giving you painkillers. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, doc. Thanks."

"No problem," Bruce replied. He paused, as if thinking about what to say next. "They got them cleaned up. Saying funeral's in two days. Wanted to let you guys know."

"Thanks, Bruce," Natasha said quietly.

"Anytime," he replied softly. He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder and sighed before going back to his work.

Steve slid back on his shirt, and with some help from Natasha, managed to get it back on. He got his arms under her and began to lift her up, but the crutches made the weight uneven and he had to steady himself, causing a laugh to sound from Natasha.

"That's what crutches are for," she said, waving the crutch in the air.

"That's what I'm here for," he retaliated, gaining his balance and carrying her out of the room.

"I'm going to get used to this and you'll be carrying me around forever," she said jokingly.

"If you need me, I will gladly carry you," Steve replied

"And if I don't necessarily _need _to be carried?"

"If you want me to, I will," Steve smiled.

They went back to Natasha's room, where Steve lay her gingerly on the bed. "I'm not made out of glass. I've had worse injuries," Natasha said defensively.

"No, you haven't," Steve replied, looking at her with sad eyes. She knew that he was no longer talking about her ankle.

She pursed her lips and thought of a memory, anything to get them out of the bout of sadness that had washed over the both of them. "There was this one time. We were on a stakeout. Clint got so bored that he ordered pizza, taking his eyes off the target. They ambushed us, but they were no match for two master assassins," she said, a happy gleam in her eye. Steve listened attentively.

"So here they were. Three big, burly Russian assassins, strapped to the small bed in the motel. The pizza guy walked in and we scared him half to death. He left and Clint offered our captives some pizza. Naturally, they didn't take it. That was the first time I had ever tried the stuff. For some reason, it tasted better knowing my enemies weren't getting any."

That was the Natasha he knew. Steve sat back on the bed and thought of his own story to tell. "Back in the 40's, Bucky and I were part of the Howling Commandos, best bunch of guys I've ever had the chance to fight alongside with. Basically, Bucky lost a bet and had to let Dugan cut his hair. Didn't end up so well. We all laughed, including him. But he never was one to go down easy. As we were all sleeping, he snuck around with his own pair of scissors. In the morning, we all had his messed up hair. Bucky actually managed to make it look like Dugan had done a good job," Steve said, chuckling, and ran a hand through his golden locks. "First and last time I ever let Bucky Barnes cut anybody's hair, much less mine."

Natasha smiled at his story. "You know, we're haunted by all the bad things so much that we often forget about all the good things."

Steve nodded in agreement. "But being haunted does help you remember the bad stuff and what to not do again, if you can help it," he replied.

"If you can help it," she echoed. Out of the blue, her mood changed. "Want to watch a film? I have a television in here so we wouldn't have to move."

"Whatever you want," Steve said, smirking.

"Alright. Something not relating to war or assassins or conspiracy theories. I try to break down in tears only once in a decade," she said simply, looking through one of her drawers for a good movie.

"How's that working out?"

"I'm working on it," she replied.

They ended up watching a romantic comedy, of which Steve forgot the name, but did enjoy the way the stupid jokes brought a smile to his face. It almost made him forget. _Almost_. That just for a few minutes, he could believe that Bucky was downstairs working out as he always was, and Steve could get up and go talk to him at that very moment. The second the thought crossed his mind, it vanished and he remembered that Bucky was gone and he had no one who understood him and what happened in the 40s. Steve had never felt so alone.

After the movie ended, Steve got up from the bed and began to exit the room.

"Where are you going?" Natasha questioned.

"Getting my shield. In case I should need it when I'm bunking with you," he replied and walked out of the room.

He stepped into the elevator and made his way to his floor, his feet padding on the dark wood floors as he made his way to the bedroom. When he entered the threshold, his eyes went to his shield and the picture of he and Bucky that he had placed on it earlier.

Steve took a deep breath as more of the wall crumbled away. He forced himself to walk forward on shaky legs. With tingling fingers, he picked up his shield, holding one half of it in each hand.

It had splintered down the middle into two jagged fragments. The star in the middle was no more and it was as if the red bands were weeping as well.

Steve clutched the shards to his chest and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. His shield was almost as much a part of him as Bucky. Now they were both broken.

Bucky was gone.

His shield was fragmented.

His heart was shattered.

* * *

**This chapter may have dragged on a little, but I thought it was needed to show just how much they lean on each other now that they have both lost someone important. If you enjoyed, pleaseeeeeee leave a review, they make me very happy ;) Thanks for reading and I'mm get the next (and last) chapter up s soon as I can!**

**Also, who watched the season finale of Agent Carter? It is an amazing TV show. If you want to talk about it, feel free to PM me ;)**


	3. Goodbyes

**First of all, big thank you to everyone that has reviewed and favorite and followed :) It means so much! This is the final chapter of the threeshot trilogy, or whatever you want to call it. I am working on more Romanogers stuff, because let's be honest, they are my OTP if you haven't figured that out yet. **

**There was a new Age of Ultron trailer released today, #3, so be sure to go check it out, it's epic! Okay, on with the Funeral!**

**I don't own Marvel. Or the Avengers. Or anything mentioned in this piece basically.**

* * *

"_Maybe if you hold me baby_

_Let me come over_

_I will tell you secrets nobody knows_

_I cannot overstate it_

_I will be overjoyed…_

_And if you want, we'll share this life_

_Anytime you need a friend I'm gonna be by your side_

_When nobody understands you_

_Well, I do__"_

_Overjoyed, Matchbox Twenty_

* * *

The next day was a quiet, solemn one. The Avengers all ate their meals together and stayed on the communal floor the entire day, soothed by each other's company. Natasha never left Steve's grasp. They slept in the same bed again and were there for each other when the nightmares would rip them from their slumber. It was a sleepless night.

In the morning, they went to their respective rooms to get changed and met the rest of the team downstairs. The ride to the cemetery was a quiet one. Steve and Natasha were in the lead car, followed by the other Avengers in matching sleek black limousines. The coffins with Clint and Bucky had already been set up. They were going to be buried at a special cemetery for only SSR and SHIELD agents.

Dew was fresh on the grass and the morning sun glistened in the sky. The city was just starting to wake up. Already, cars and people bustled over in the streets, paying no attention to the quiet, solemn funeral going on inside the black, barred gates. Chairs were set up facing the coffin, which was open to the world.

Clint's funeral was first. Bucky was on the other side of the cemetery, where the military personnel were buried. He was to be buried with the rest of the Howling Commandos, Howard Stark, and Peggy Carter.

The car came to a slow stop and Steve offered Natasha his hand, helping her out of the car. She wore a sleek black dress and on her neck was a small silver arrow necklace. She carried his bow in a case under her arm. A bandage was wrapped around her ankle to keep it in place, but it was mostly healed and fine to walk on. She had refused crutches, reminding Steve that she had survived all that time without him. In her own mind, she already looked weak enough. She certainly didn't want to seem more broken than when Clint had last seen her.

Steve, Tony, and Bruce were all dressed in black tuxedos with black pants. Typical funeral attire. Thor had donned a black cape, along with black armor. He insisted that in order to properly honor warriors, he must dress like one himself.

The group made their way to the burial location, where a small handful of people were standing. Fury, Hill, and a few other agents were there to witness the service.

They all said pleasant hellos before sitting down in their respective seats. Natasha leaned her head on Steve's shoulder and sighed.

"You going to be okay?" he asked quietly as the pastor began talking.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I always thought he'd be the one to see me like this."

* * *

_Flashback_

_ "__This is more like Budapest," Clint commented, a grin on his face. He pulled back his bow and shot, his arrow finding its target in the face of one of the robots._

_ "__I still think New York was closer," Natasha replied over the fire of her bullets. They were a calm team, taking down the enemy, just like they always had._

_ Suddenly, smoke began to billow through the air as more of the robots flew down from the sky, obscuring Natasha__'s view of Clint. She fired multiple times, but there were simply too many. They were swamped._

_ The robots began firing, their bullets blocking out all of the other sounds. Natasha swung around the neck of a robot and kicked out at another, sending both of them down before putting bullets in a few more._

_ Sweat began to drip into her eyes as she lashed out at the remaining robots with her knives, hitting them in their weak spots. Metal clashed against her arm, scraping the skin away as she blocked a hit from another robot. The wound began to sting, but she pushed back the pain and took the robot out. _

_ Gradually, the onslaught began to cease as the ground became littered with sparking metal corpses. Some had missing parts of their heads, others had arrows sticking out of their chests. _

_ Natasha smiled as the last of the robots went down. She clicked the knives back into their place at her holster and took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She looked around for Clint and found him standing, his back to her._

_ "__One hell of a fight," she said, breathing heavily._

_ He turned to her. A gash was on his forehead and his face was pale. He looked down at his chest, where two holes were gushing blood onto his uniform._

_ "__Clint," she said in a small, childlike voice. _

_ He collapsed onto the ground, his legs buckling from under him. Natasha ran forward, tripping on rubble as she ran. Pain flared in her ankle as she grimaced, but she kept running, skidding to a stop beside Clint._

_ "__Clint, Clint, look at me," she said, putting his head into her lap. _

_ "__Hey, Tasha," he whispered, his breathing ragged. Blood trailed out of his lips and his hair was tangled with smoke and ash. His hand was still grasping his bow, his knuckles white._

_ "__Stay with me, okay. The others will be here soon," Natasha said, her voice cracking._

_ Clint looked down at his wounded chest, as if shocked. He brought his head back up, a small smirk on his face. His eyes locked with hers. __"Don't do anything stupid," he murmured._

_ "__No," she breathed. "You are not leaving me." Tears skidded down her face, landing on the broken asphalt beneath her boots._

_ "__I don't really have a choice," he said quietly. "Hey, I'll be okay." His hand reached up and shakily brushed a tear from her face. "Okay?"_

_ Natasha shook her head no. __"I won't be."_

_ "__Yes, you will. You've lost things before, yet here you are. You're a warrior."_

_ "__You're the only one who understands. Please, I need you," she started. _

_ "__Talk to Steve. He'll understand. Plus, he has quite the eye for you." His eyes closed slowly, their dark and stormy blue color hidden behind his pale eyelids. _

_ She grabbed for his hand among the rubble and squeezed it. He smiled in response, red mixed on his white teeth. _

_ "__I always thought the roles would be switched," she breathed. "I want them to be. I deserve this, for everything I've done. Not you."_

_ "__Sh," Clint whispered. "Just listen."_

_ She listened for something, anything. The only thing she heard was the sparking from the dead robots and the rubble still crumbling around the city. _

_ What she didn__'t hear was Clint's breathing. _

_ "__Clint?" she asked, shaking him a little. Her hand flew up to his throat, searching for a pulse, a breath, any sign of life. "Clint?" she tried again. Her hand kneaded his, willing him to come back. Tears clouded her vision as she set his hand back down._

_ "__Clint!" she screamed into the nothingness, to the empty city around her, hoping someone would hear her cry for help. "Goddammit, no!"_

_ His eyes were so distant, his face too pale, the blood on his lips too red._

_ "__Clint," she whispered at his still form. But it was no use. He was gone._

_ End Flashback_

* * *

"Natasha?" a voice asked. "Natasha?"

"Huh?" she replied, dazed as she snapped away from the memory.

"They're asking you to say a few words," Steve whispered, nudging her to the pastor, who looked at her with sad eyes.

She nodded and walked up to his coffin, his bow under her arm. She took shaky steps towards the coffin and steeled herself for what she would find inside.

Clint lay surrounded by white fabric, his hands clasped together and rested on his chest. His hair was neatly swooped to the side, possibly the neatest she had ever seen it. The cut on his lip looked smaller, the gash on his head less severe. What Natasha couldn't get over was how pale he was, how still his features were. He could never sit still, even if it killed him.

She slid the case holding his bow out from her arm and gingerly placed it inside the coffin, blinking tears out of her eyes as she did so. Taking a moment to collect herself, Natasha then stood to face her colleagues.

Tony was holding Pepper, who had glistening tear lines streaked down her face. Thor and Bruce were sitting next to each other, grim looks on their faces. Steve simply sat, waiting for what she had to say.

"You all know how I met Clint, so there's no point in starting there with some sappy how we met story," Natasha started. "I have to say, I hated him at first. But then he grew on me. He became the only person to ever understand me for who I am, who I was. I guess I'll have to open up to you guys more," she said, trying to lighten her tone a little.

"But he was a good man, you all know that, and a damn good archer. He could put a smile on anyone's face without being offensive, like Tony, sorry," she quickly apologized. Tony waved his hand at her and she continued. "If I know anything about him, I know that he went down a fighter and that's how he'd want us to remember him. Not who he _was_, but who he _is._ He lives on in all of us. In the cheesy jokes Tony makes. In the care that Bruce gives us, for having to stitch him up so many times I lost count. In Thor, for always being there. In Steve, for simply being a good man." She paused for a second. "And in me. For giving me a chance when no one else would."

Natasha wiped a tear from her eye and smiled, taking her seat next to Steve. Everyone gave a small clap and Steve wrapped his arm around her.

She watched as the pastor closed the coffin and it was lowered into the ground. Everyone went around and threw in a handful of dirt before he was buried completely.

And just like that, he was gone. It hit Natasha that he was never coming back. Seeing that pile of loose dirt covering the patch of square grass seemed to remind her of that. It was done, over. And she had no control.

They made their way across the cemetery next.

"Did they really have to do both of them in one day?" Steve sighed.

"Better for press to not see the Avengers crying twice, I guess," Natasha replied.

It was obvious that they had stepped into the more military side of the graveyard. Small American flags were set upon each grave. There was a sense of calm, a sense of belonging, especially to Steve.

He took a deep breath as he passed Howard Stark's grave, Peggy Carter's, the rest of the Howling Commandos. So many memories, so many of them buried below his feet. Soon Bucky would join them.

They all stood for Bucky's service. His coffin was closed. Bucky had once told Steve that he never wanted anyone to see him dead, and if Steve somehow miraculously outlived him, he wouldn't want Steve to bear the pain any more than he had to.

The first time he had lost Bucky, there had been no coffin. Just a rainy day and the squelch of mud beneath his boots.

* * *

_Flashback_

_ "__Attention!" the sergeant yelled. Hundreds of boots came together in one unified sound. "March!" _

_ The entire 107th marched forward, Steve leading the charge. He held a folded American flag in his hands. Rain was pouring down from the sky and lightning flashed in the distance. His rain soaked uniform was cold and clung to Steve__'s skin, but he could barely feel it. Everything seemed to be in some kind of a haze. Steve's wet hair hung in front of his eyes as he marched up to Colonel Phillips, the rest of his men behind him._

_ "__Halt!" The men came to a halt, waiting for the next orders. _

_ Steve handed the flag to the Colonel, who took it firmly and slid it underneath his arm. He saluted Steve, a gesture which Steve returned, and began speaking._

_ "__Today we salute Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, of the 107th, who was killed in action during a mission to defeat our enemies. He died believing that we could take down HYDRA, and we sure as hell will. Whenever we blow up one of their sorry buildings, or take down their men, it will be in his honor. He lives on inside each and every one of you. Do not forget that," he ended._

_ Steve stole a glance at Peggy, who was standing underneath an umbrella with Howard, both of them wearing all black. Her boots were mud soaked but her face was dry. She never let her commanding attitude slip._

_ Shots were fired in the twenty one gun salute and the unit was dismissed, Phillips patting Steve on the back as he went._

_ Howard left Peggy with the umbrella. She walked over to him and placed the umbrella above his head so that he was momentarily shielded from the onslaught of water._

_ "__How are you holding up?" she asked, her rich English accent flowing through him. Peggy's chocolate brown eyes were full of light, making him smile slightly._

_ Steve took a deep breath and sighed. __"I always thought he would be the one attending my funeral, where I died 'cuz of some illness. I never thought I'd be the one saluting him when he died in battle."_

_ "__Funny how the world works sometimes," Peggy observed._

_ Steve nodded, looking out at the gray sky and the ominous clouds floating overhead. __"I'm going for a drink. Would you like to come?" Steve asked._

_ "__Is this a date, Captain Rogers?" she asked in her authoritative tone, a smile playing on her lips. Their bright red color seemed to brighten the dreary day and it made her face glow with a sort of light._

_ "__Consider it a favor," he replied. He took the umbrella from her hand and slipped his arm into hers. They walked together in the mud towards the small tavern in search of a good drink._

_ End Flashback_

* * *

"Bucky was more than a friend. He was a soldier, he was my brother. I have to say, I never thought I would have to lose anyone three times. But then again, Bucky was always full of surprises. Not many people can go from good to bad to good again, but if there was anyone that could've done it, it was him. He saved my life countless times. Yet each time I lost him was because I fell short of my duties. Sorry, Buck. It was an honor to fight beside him and I'm glad I got to know him again," Steve said.

He pulled something from beneath his jacket. The splintered red, white, and blue shined in the sunlight. Soot still covered much of it and bullet marks had chipped the paint away in streaks. "He's as much a part of me as my shield. Seems only fitting." He placed the half of the shield on the coffin.

Fury looked surprised, but okay with what Steve was doing. "Don't worry. Stark has decided to be useful and help me make a new one with the vibranium from Ultron," Steve commented, seeing the look on Fury's face.

Steve tapped the coffin a few times, listening to the sound his knuckles made against the wood. "See ya someday, jerk," he whispered to the coffin. He almost wished it was open. What did Bucky look like? Did he look crisp in a military uniform, his hair cut and his metal arm hidden beneath the green jacket? Or was his brown hair long and pushed back, donned in his black gear?

It was probably best that Steve didn't see. If he did, we would never be able to let go.

Steve walked with slow steps back to where everyone else was standing. Bucky was slowly lowered into the ground. They did the same thing, everyone throwing in a handful of dirt before the coffin was covered completely.

He barely heard the twenty-one gun salute, but numbly raised his hand to his head in a crisp salute. It was if he was listening to everything through layers of water, as if nothing was real. The guns sounded the same, the mood was the same, the same man was gone. The only thing that was different was the feeling of sunlight against his face. Steve couldn't decide if he liked the rain or the sun better for funerals.

The rain seemed more fitting. But the sun reminded him that he was still alive, still fighting the same battles.

Tony clapped a hand on Steve's back before starting to walk away. "We'll see you back at the tower," he said in a quiet voice. Thor and Bruce followed. Hill was next, the other agents following her and driving off.

"My condolences for your losses," Fury said in the softest tone Steve had ever heard from him. He stepped in and gave Natasha a hug, which she returned. Fury knew how close she was with Barton. He and Steve were the only ones allowed to hug her.

It was just Steve and Natasha standing over the graves after Fury left, looking at the green grass and the mound of dirt that had been freshly placed.

Dum Dum Dugan was buried to Bucky's left, Howard buried to his right. Howard's stone was beginning to deteriorate from being in the ground so long. The other Commando's looked about the same, small tufts of grass growing up their sides.

Peggy's was one of the neater ones. She had passed two years after Steve came back into the world. He got to know her again, however, he did never get to take her dancing as he had promised.

It wasn't Peggy's, or Howard's, or any other soldier that haunted him as much as Dugan's did. Howard and the others died long before he was woken. He got to see Peggy again.

Dugan died a little over a month before Steve was found.

When he obtained that knowledge, it crushed him. He had missed his friend by _one month_. After seventy years, that amount of time seemed so small.

_"A big gun doesn't make a big man."_ was the quote that was displayed on Dugan's headstone. Where it was from, Steve didn't know. But it fit Dugan so well.

It had a sense of closure to Steve. But seeing all of the names he once knew, together all in one spot, it was like being shot in the heart. He could feel himself crumbling. The small amount of resolve he had managed to build up before the ceremony was slowly being washed away. Natasha, seeing his distress, wrapped an arm around his waist and sighed.

"I never thought I would believe it until I saw it for myself. I was right. This is so real. It's just like the first time all over again," Steve said.

"I know how you feel. We've both lost everything we're familiar with. But we found something, too," Natasha replied. She took her head off his shoulder as he turned to face her. His golden hair glistened in the sunlight and his eyes had never looked more blue.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he said, cupping her face in his palm.

"And I, you."

He bent down and his lips met hers. Their arms wrapped around each other in a tender embrace. They knew each others worst fears, the terrible things they had both done. And they were both okay with it.

Natasha pulled away first and smiled up at Steve. "Not bad for a man that's approaching a hundred," she said jokingly.

Steve blushed. He got his arm under her legs and picked her up again, making her shout slightly in shock. Eventually she gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head once again against his strong shoulder. It was an old habit of hers, resting her head on someone's shoulder for support. It was almost her low-key way of showing affection. Clint had always been her shoulder when she had needed one. Steve now held that role.

Steve took one last look at Bucky's grave and began to walk out of the cemetery, Natasha safe in his arms. She stole a glance at the other mound of fresh dirt, where Clint was buried. They were both leaving someone behind, but they had gained each other in the process.

"Я люблю тебя," Natasha said, almost under her breath, as if she was afraid to say it.

"Hm?" Steve asked, still walking forward, but his eyes were trained on her. "I don't speak Russian."

"I love you," she translated and smiled.

"But I do speak English," he said jokingly. "I love you, too."

* * *

**That's it! I hope you all enjoyed it. Yes, I may have messed up the Russian, so forgive me, but I do not speak the language. Until next time! :)**


End file.
